The Paths We Choose
by juno57
Summary: Our lives are a series of paths set before us; some we choose, some we don't. Rest assured that whatever choices we do make, there will always be consequences. AltaïrxMaria
1. Journey's Birth

**Hi all! One of many fanfics to come! As per usual, I don't own Assassin's Creed, Ubisoft does :) Enjoy and review!**

Altaïr awoke to warm, golden rays of sun pushing through his window's un-even slats, cascading onto his bed sheets. Groaning slightly at yesterday's wounds protesting against his rising, he slowly sat up- feeling far from refreshed. "Pain is just a way the body shows one that they are still alive to face another day, Another opportunity to kill another Templar, and further our Creed's cause". He mused silently. "Perhaps I won't be sent to Jerusalem today…" he said as he rolled his powerful shoulders back, clenching and relaxing the muscles in his back as he did so. Needless to say, after the past few months' actions, Altaïr was still not on speaking terms with a particularly disgruntled Rafiq- nor did he intend to make reparations to an already rocky friendship.

Pushing all other thoughts aside, the Assassin rose from the bed and trudged to his dresser, where a small basin of mildly fresh water was waiting in an old cracked pitcher. Altaïr pushed nostalgic thoughts from his mind as he mechanically poured the water into the basin. "I should replace this.", he thought to himself. Although he wished to be rid of the relic, strangely, it was the last surviving item in Altaïr's room that belonged to his father, and couldn't bear to part with it- though he would never own up to it consciously. He splashed his face with water, in another attempt to rouse his body from perpetual fatigue. He gazed into the large smooth section of polished metal that sat on his dresser, and gazed back into his somewhat sleepy eyes. He sighed in dissatisfaction at his reflection; the source of his discontent being his smooth muted olive skin, coupled with eyes that were a startling gold with hazel flecks, rimed with dark, perfect lashes. Although objectively, he was strikingly handsome, Altaïr could never feel he was a true "Brother", given his sordid lineage and features that were far from normal in his land.

Altaïr crossed to a small chest at the foot of his unmade bed, and took out several neatly folded items. He dropped them on the bed, and sat down beside them, beginning the tedious task of putting on his robes. Slipping the smooth under-tunic on over his skin, he made a point to avoid stretching his left side- still tender from the "gift" delivered to him by a Templar's broadsword. He stood now, and pulled the heavier, coarse outer tunic over his chest, tugging here and there until the placement was right. He checked the reflection in the "mirror" for help as he first tied the sash around his toned waist, and then covered it with the thick, protective leather of his belt. Adding any throwing knives that had not been replaced from his last task's work, as well as investigating his sword for any unacceptable flaws or dirt, he secured his belt, and slipped into his comfortable sturdy leather boots. After securing his dagger on his chest-strap, he slid the leather bracer onto his right arm, and flexed his fingers as he put on his glove. Meticulously, he slid the infamous Hidden Blade onto his left arm, securing it with deft diligence- this weapon was his life; his first choice to bring death, and his final savior in escaping it. He flicked his fingers out, feeling the familiar pull of the blade's mechanism, and the satisfying _snick _of the blade leaving it's hiding place. Smiling to himself, he slipped the other glove on, and he strode over to the dresser. He removed his white hood from its stand, slipping it over his head, and letting the hood rest on the back of his shoulders. He took a final lingering look at himself in the mirror, and, with an approving nod, walked through the doorway on his way to Al Mualim.

"I am here, Master" Altaïr spoke, slightly bowing his head.

"Ah, the boy has finally decided to join me." The old man said, turning. He wore a permanent scowl on his face; however, it somehow looked even more marked today. "Had trouble getting out of bed this morning? Perhaps your body would not be so loath to co-operate had it not been injured by your carelessness!"

Altaïr, knowing better than to let the old man's quips garner a response, shook it off with a slight nod- though he would not admit it, his Master was right.

"Well, it seems your trials have tamed your tongue, boy, at least for now." Al Mualim said, turning away from the man standing solemnly waiting for instructions. Turning his attention to the soft cooing of the twenty or so carrier pigeons roosting in their cage, he reached his hand in and plucked a fine grey bird from out of it's nest.

"Altaïr, I have another name to give you, another who needs to feel the bite of justice at his throat."

"Give it to me then, Master, and it is as good as done."

"Patience, boy," Al Mualim said disdainfully, " and here I thought you might have learned something." Al Mualim turned around to look at Altaïr. Sighing audibly, the old Master took a seat at his desk, and pulled from its depths, a letter, marked in Arabic script. It was addressed to Malik Al-Sayf.

"Wonderful," Altaïr thought to himself, "how sensible it would be to send me there after what just happened." He noticed that Al Mualim was now looking at his face. He straightened slightly, and met his Master's gaze.

"Is there a problem, Altaïr?"

"No, Master." He replied.

"Good." He returned his gaze to the letter in his hands and started again, "I know Malik still holds an animosity towards you, but you of all people should know that all wounds heal in time." With this, Al Mualim rose from his seat, and carefully rolled up the letter so it would fit in the small strap on the pigeon's leg. He stroked the pigeon's wings once, then, with a flutter, he released the pigeon, and watched it fly through the metalwork window.

"If I might inquire as to the name of my target Master…"

"Of course boy, had you the patient for an old man to finish his sentences-"

"Forgive me Master, I did not intend any disrespect."

Al Mualim held up his hand to silence him, "I know you did not, so I will tell you. His name is Mamraj Abhilash; I'm sure, as you are no stranger to the streets of Jerusalem, you have heard of his lubricity that has been a great source of corruption within the city. He keeps many women with him, and throws elaborate parties. He deals in the sins of the flesh, and has thrived off of it. Go to Jerusalem now, boy, and speak with Malik. I have no doubt that he is…" he paused, searching for the right word, "impatient to speak to you." Al Mualim walked around his desk as he handed Altaïr a small vial containing a cloudy liquid.

"Poison?" Altaïr ventured. Al Mualim nodded, "were we not told that poison is a coward's weapon?"

Al Mualim chuckled without mirth, "Yes boy, that is correct, however, this mission requires…stealth." Altaïr shifted uncomfortably at this word, as his wounds from his last botched mission had only started to heal.

Altaïr wordlessly took the vial of poison and secured it in a canister on the back of his belt. Turning to leave, he stopped, keeping his gaze towards the Great Hall, but directing his speech to Al Mualim, "I will not fail you Master, you have my word." With those final words of assurance, he descended the Great Staircase, and walked into the courtyard. As he stepped into the sun's blinding light, he lifted the enigmatic white hood that practically glowed in the intense light. With a comfortable blanket of shadow allowing sight once again, he hastened through the courtyard, past the journeymen who stood sentry.

Al Mualim turned back and gazed out of the open-air window overlooking the courtyard below. A smile ghosted his lips for the briefest of moments as he watched the young Assassin make his way out of the fortress.

Quickly, he made his way through the village of Masyaf, past civilians and fellow Brothers alike, returning the occasional greeting a few times. It was getting later, the sun nearing its climax in the sky, and the oppressive heat already forcing Altaïr to wipe his brow occasionally. Walking through the gates, Altaïr approached the horses, freshly brushed by young novices and journeymen. He selected a strong young stallion, 16 hands high with a black coat and flowing mane that could put the darkest night sky to shame. He ran his hand down its back, and it acknowledged him with a small whiney.

"Peace, my friend, peace. We have four days' journey ahead of us. You will need your strength- as will I."

He checked the saddle, twice, "Never can trust a novice" he mused. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a scruffy-looking novice, no older that ten, who was entranced by the sight of a flesh-and-blood Assassin and his steed. Smiling to himself, Altaïr approached the horse from behind, and placed a hand on either side of his flank. He took a breath and then with an arrogant show of prowess, that would surely make Malik cringe, he hoisted himself up onto the horse, from a standstill. He allowed himself a small smirk as he heard the boy gasp excitedly.

With a crack of the reins, steed and master galloped along the mountainous terrain, starting their lengthy journey that would take them to Jerusalem, to their target, and to the start of something completely unexpected.


	2. Discovery

_Again, I don't own Altaïr or Assassin's Creed, Ubisoft does. _

_ALTAÏR IBN- LA'AHAD: Jerusalem, The Holy Land_

For the better part of a week, Altaïr had been traveling, unable to make better time, as his injuries refused to accept any jostling caused by rapid speed. Raising his eyes to the horizon blanketed in the warmth and light of a new day, Altaïr was able to make out the gates to the Jewel of the Holy Land- "Not long now" he thought to himself.

With slow, plodding steps, Altaïr's horse walked down out of the mountain pass, and onto the path leading to the city gates. Altaïr hunched his shoulders, hiding his face beneath the shadow cast by his hood. He would have to be careful if he were to get in without being bothered, or arousing suspicion. "As long as those guards mind their own affairs-not mine- this will be no challenge." He approached the gate cautiously, matching the gait of fellow mounted travelers. He guided his horse over to a hitching area, and tied the reins to the rough wooden post. "A rest well earned my friend" Altaïr breathed to his horse, running a hand along its broad, warm nose. The horse softly exhaled in agreement. Having left his horse with hay and water near the hitching station, Altaïr slipped into a group of nearby scholars who were making their way into the city. Heads bowed in prayer, the Assassin slipped into their group unnoticed. As they approached the city's entrance, the Saracens regarded the scholars in white with mild suspicion- Altaïr lowered his head further, clasping his hands in imitated devotion and continued walking.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Altaïr exited the group, once a safe berth had been put between the guards and himself. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling the need to stretch his out the tightness in his back after a prolonged time spent "blending". Inhaling deeply the exotic scents wafting from nearby merchants and markets made Altaïr's stomach voice its opinion. Altaïr frowned, remembering that he had last eaten yesterday at midday- a meager meal of dried fruit, olives, and unleven bread. "There will be time for that after I investigate further my target" he reflected. Raising his eyes to the skyline, he found a high tower with a perch, "That will work", he smirked.

Climbing remained Altaïr's favourite task, aside from combat. The feeling of his muscles contracting, working in harmony to lift him higher and higher until at last, he could gaze upon the city as if it were his- an unrivaled feeling. He started from the rooftop of a building close to the tower. Planks lay across the rooftops made a makeshift bridge for gaps that couldn't be forged by jumping. He surveyed the distance between the edge of this roof, and the tower's lower section- 5 meters across. He smirked to himself as he stepped back, in a calculating manner, until he was at the edge of the house roof. He paused for a moment, and then in a surge of momentum, sprinted across the roof, launching himself into the air with a great push. He flew for a brief moment, then slammed into the wall of the building, fingers seeking, and finding, purchase onto the narrow edge of a window ledge. Wasting no time to revel in his accomplishment, he scampered up the wall, hands skillfully moving, constantly reaching, finding, until finally, he heaved himself up onto the tower's balcony. His climb was far from over; a greater picture of the city would require more altitude. His arms were beginning to protest as he continued to push ever upward until finally, chest surging with want for air, arms and legs aching, he pulled himself up onto the wooden perch located at the very top of the tower. He sunk low, one leg in front of the other, arms crossed over each other, holding onto the rough boards as he surveyed the vast city below. His eyes scanned for his target; something flickered in the back of his mind, and the world was plunged into a grayscale light. Around him, pixels of reds, blues, and white seemed to glow. However, one area stood out most; a gold glow to the northwest of his position. Blinking back the discoloration, the world returned to its proper shades as Altaïr focused on the spot, which still held a residual yellow glow. Sure enough, he could make out the Assassin's symbol on the roof- "Ah yes, my _dear_ friend Malik. Best not keep him waiting" Altaïr simpered. He checked below him, and spying a cart of hay below his viewpoint, he leapt from his perch.

Emerging from the hay, Altaïr brushed the lingering strands from his robes, and those who had somehow found a way under his hood into his short, tousled, mocha hair. On his way to the bureau, he gave in to his hunger, and purchased some figs, which he could consume quickly before he arrived at Malik's bureau. Eating on the job was one lecture Altaïr did not want to hear from anyone- especially Malik.

Altaïr reached the bureau within the hour, his tardiness thanks to several civilians who were need of rescuing. "They just stand there, in the middle of it, refusing to move- the foolish peasants. Yet they also refuse to help, only to then contradict themselves by informing me that they 'had everything under control'". Altaïr shook his head, and made his way over to the ladder up to the roof of the bureau. Altaïr did a brief but thorough sweep of those within eyeshot, then, upon deeming it safe, scampered up the ladder.

"God save him! He's gone mad!"

"Why is he doing that? He's going to hurt himself! The fool!"

Apparently his actions had earned some comments from those who had seen him. Altaïr lowered himself into the bureau, feeling the mildly pleasant burning in his arms as he did so. Slowly, he lowered himself, until at last he dropped, landing deftly on the soft woven rugs that adorned the floor of Malik's bureau. Altaïr inaudibly rounded the corner, spying Malik examining, what Altaïr could only have guessed, to be a map of sorts on his counter. Sighing, Altaïr reminded himself to be… in the very least civil to Malik. After all, he held no discontent with the Rafiq. Putting on an indifferent expression, Altaïr swaggered into the bureau.

"Safety and peace, brother." Altaïr said, with what he hoped was a pleasant, or at least an apathetic tone.

Malik turned to stare at Altaïr, annoyance and outrage seeped into his expression the moment he recognized the hooded man.

"My how the mighty have fallen. Look how he struts about; proud as a lion, after how he has been _shamed_! All my pain has been caused by him, yet he still has the right to call me _brother_ after what he did to me" Malik motioned to his left arm, which ended abruptly well above the elbow. "Not to mention what _you_ did to my _real_ brother!"

Altaïr's patience was rarely a thing to be trifled with- however after having it pushed so much already by Malik's anger, he could no longer speak with grace, nor with forethought.

"Yes, Malik", Altaïr snarled viciously, perhaps more so than he had intended. Malik flinched in surprise. "I do call you brother. However, it is not in mockery, nor do I feel you deserve to be my brother any more than I do yours. I am tired of being treated as inferior or as some damned dog, forced to walk on eggshells should I, God forbid, anger anyone! I have tried being civil with you, with the others; there is nothing I can do to make them forget, make them forgive. I do not want their forgiveness. I do not want yours either. The _only_ reason I am here is to fulfill _our_ Master's wishes. So if you have any respect left for him, you will put your anger and petty grudges behind you, and tell me what I need to know." Altaïr realized at this point, that Malik, for once, had let him fully explain his feelings. "Odd, since the man obviously took such pleasure in making my life hell…"

Malik regarded him warily, a cross between reproach and respect on his face. After a beat, he spoke, keeping his eyes on Altaïr's face.

" Admitting your faults, and begging my forgiveness was what I expected, even wanted you to say, _Novice_." Malik turned and pulled out the large tome kept by all Rafiqs out from a drawer. Altaïr turned to look away- livid. "However, I realize that devoting my energy to making your life a hell, is not the wisest thing to do." Altaïr, caught off guard, started to ask Malik what he was talking about.

"I know what I said, and I feel as though I should offer you a chance to earn my trust back. You should be able to have a second chance, Altaïr. That much I will give you. "

Altaïr mumbled a gruff thank-you, and then asked Malik if he would kindly explain where he should begin his search for information on Mamraj.

"So nice to hear you _ask_ for my help, instead of demanding it. I would have thought that they would have given you a novice of your own by now… NOVICE!"

"Malik, please; I must demand that you stop calling me that." Altaïr growled, his voice low and threatening. "I am Novice no longer; I have earned my rank back honestly, and therefore-"

Malik laughed, interrupting him. "Oh Novice, I do not call you such out of spite or belittlement- it is merely a pet name I have for you. Although the fact that it annoys you is not entirely displeasing…"

Altaïr growled then, having decided he was tired of waiting for Malik's instructions, left the bureau.

Thinking back on what little Al Mualim had told him about his target, Altaïr decided on his best course of action. "I'll be able to find an informant in the market, this I am sure of. I can start my search in the Rich District; Mamraj no doubt resides there." Altaïr mused. "Perhaps I can even find one of his servants in a souk." Taking a quick glance around for any guards, he leapt from the roof, somersaulted over himself, and emerged, unscathed, disappearing into the crowds of people.

Altaïr was weary from spending all day on his feet, searching fruitlessly for any sign of an informant, so he decided that he would rest for a while under the shade of the nearby souk. He listened to the clamor of the market rising and falling from time to time; the bargaining of two equally stubborn men over the price of fish, the frustrated squawking of a mother reprimanding her two very disobedient children- all these could be heard from his bench. His attention was starting to wane, and he felt himself succumbing to the allure of sleep. He felt his eyelids relaxing, until something worth staring at caught his gaze.


	3. A Second Journey

_MARIA THORPE: Jerusalem, The Holy Land_

"Bloody Hell!"

Maria wiped the sweat from her brow as she cursed the heat. "It's a wonder anything gets done in this bloody country!" She sighed as she adjusted the veils on her head. She was clad in an elaborate courtesan's dress, a very revealing skirt comprised of seven sheer, green veils overlapping each other intertwined with delicate, fine gold chains and coins. As she sashayed through the market, the motion of her swaying hips caused these coins to tinkle softly. Her midriff was bare, although patterns expertly drawn in gold paint adorned her, from under the hem of her skirt under her chest covering, and up to her neck. Her chest was constrained, uncomfortably, by an elaborate and revealing bandeau; a mixture of braided silks, sheer veils, and rich satin. Already having made several attempts at trying to loosen it, her more than ample chest was still trying to find any way out. Her curly, raven hair, normally kept in a strict braid, was free to flow down her toned back stopping at her waist. "I can't believe that I am actually going out in public in this… this whores clothing! On top of that," she exclaimed, "they made me put on this ridiculous makeup!"

Her pale blue eyes were rimmed with the powder of dark brown kohl, rich, earthy brown shades adorned her lids, and someone, with a very steady hand, had drawn accents in gold along her waterline, and in the corner of each eye. Her face was pale, even by European standards, however the sun's rays brought a rosy flush to her cheeks. Despite being an English woman, she did the costume more than justice, based on the leering smiles and lewd comments directed to her as she passed men in the market.

Altaïr was powerless to keep his eyes away from her. If her attire were not enough to make his mind reel, there was her walk to keep his mind occupied. She held her head high, despite her courtesan's garb; her shoulders held gracefully back, which only accentuated her tempting chest. Her hips swayed seductively in a rolling pattern that made Altaïr want to hold them, to feel them move under his own, and other things that only drifted lower and lower in acceptability. Shamed by his own thoughts, Altaïr dropped his gaze down to his own clasped hands, realizing they were clasped painfully tight. However, Altaïr also realized that his hands were not the only thing that had grown painfully tight as a result of this beautiful woman.

He decided it best to put some distance between him and this strange beauty; he stood from his bench, and started to walk away. Altaïr turned to see that, in the crowd, were two Templars, asking civilians if they had seen a man clad in white. Not wanting to get in any unnecessary trouble, Altaïr began to slink away, getting farther and farther from the guards, but closer and closer to the courtesan.

"She smells of, spices… perhaps cinnamon" Altaïr thought, as he was close enough to smell the sultry perfume of her hair. He could see the serpentine, flowing patterns adorning her back. Unable to resist, Altaïr let his thoughts wonder momentarily, "I wonder what those would feel like under my hands… or my tongue…" He felt his pulse quicken and a slow heat build inside his core. Shuddering at his lapse of integrity, he berated himself, "Ughhh!" he shook himself, "What am I? A hormone crazed boy!" He shook his head in disgust, "Bah! She is nothing but a woman- a _courtesan_ no less, why should I let her have this control over me!" And with that, Altaïr pushed her out of his mind by quickening his pace and overtaking her.

Feeling better with himself, and having calmed down a bit, he slowed his pace again, and fell into the rhythms of the crowd. To his luck, he caught a glimpse of an informant's hood, "At last." He exhaled, "I was beginning to think Malik had bribed them to avoid the city!" He began brushing past the people in the crowd, slowly making his way over to the informant.

"Safety and peace, Brother. " Altaïr walked up to the informant, who was standing in the shade of a doorway.

"And with you, Altaïr." He said as he wiped his brow rapidly as he glanced at the Assassin furtively. "What can I be of help with? I must admit though, I have only been in this city for little over two weeks, Master."

Altaïr slowly exhaled; at least he had found an informant who still respected him- no easy task these days.

"I am sure you can help me, Brother; I am in need of information on a man by the name of Mamraj Abhilash, a man of great influence and wealth within Jerusalem."

The young informant's eyes lit up, "Oh! I can in fact be of help- just last week, I was sent by Al Mualim to investigate the festivities of just such a man!" He turned his gaze to the sky, recalling, no doubt, elaborate details of the affair.

"Such lavish decorations! And the food and wine- I have never seen such heaping tables! And the dancers the way they-"

"Enough Brother," Altaïr interjected, not wanting to get back on the subject of undulating females, "I wish not to know of anything, save that of where and when it best to strike."

The informant lowered his eyes in embarrassment, "Forgive me, I did not mean to get off topic. Mamraj likes to keep to the sanctuary of his palace; he will not leave his rooms, unless he is celebrating. I am sure your prowess with a blade and infiltration will allow you to overcome this limitation, Altaïr."

"I have been instructed to take his life, not with the Hidden Blade, but with poison."

"Oh… that does make things somewhat easier."

"If I were able to slip into the kitchen, or perhaps, bribe one of his stewards to put it into his food, I may be able to- "

"That will not work," Altaïr frowned, "Uh… with all due respect Master- I meant that would be very hard, considering the fact that he is a philanderer; the only servants he keeps are also courtesans. Also, he is only served by the closest of his harem- all of which would lay down their young lives for that unscrupulous man."

Altaïr grunted something noncommittal, and then thanked the man for sharing this information with him. He shook his head as he walked away. "I suppose I could ask Malik- uhh, or not. I only _just_ earned a second chance…" Altaïr made his way into the crowd, following them down to the river and the nearby shops. His thoughts were interrupted by the lilting tones of female laughter coming from the crowd in front of him.

Maria had been wandering in the souk for the past 3 hours, when she ran into Rida, the only female friend Maria had managed to make while she had been in Acre. Rida had been wrongly accused of stealing fruit from a local shopkeeper, and was being harassed by the guards. Luckily for her, Maria had been in that very area shopping, and managed to fend off the guards. Ridahad profusely thanked Maria for her bravery, and had promised to repay her. In the end, Ridahad repaid Maria with her friendship, teaching her some of their customs and language. Maria had found herself growing close to her, glad for any form of sorority she could find. Eventually, Maria had disclosed her true purpose for being in the Holy Land, saddened by the disappointment on her friend's face. Over time, Ridahad come to accept her Templar friend for who she was– although she still implored Maria to leave the fighting to men, and join her in her quest of finding a suitable spouse, settle down, and live a domestic life.

The two smiling women strolled together, eager to reconnect with each other for the first time in weeks. Maria had been on assignment in other districts recently, so their meeting in the market had been one of much joy.

Ridaexamined Maria's attire with slight condescension, "Maria, only a week back in Jerusalem, and you are dressed like a dancing girl! Have you forgotten what I taught you is appropriate here?"

Maria had always known Rida to be brusque, so she ignored her comment. After finally being able to reconnect, Maria decided it best to let Rida know what she was up to.

"For your information, _Rida,_ I am under orders from Robert De Sable himself. I have been instructed to protect some local dignitary- Mamraj Abhilash from any harm that should befall him. He has been great financial aid to the Templars, but an even greater target for his enemies- mainly those bloody Assassins. Now, it is understandable that the very nature of his affluence made his actions anything but discreet." She grinned at Rida and snickered, "Thinks himself out to be some bloody "Autokrator" from the Byzantine empire!" she snorted.

Altaïr's ears perked up at the mention of _Assassin_ in someone's conversation. He searched the faces of the crowd, hoping to find the source; and get as far away as possible from it. He turned around, and stood against the surging crowd of people. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at those who passed him, oblivious to the man in white. Two young maidens were conversing in hushed tones. Altaïr groaned, his eyes widening in surprise and chagrin. The woman on the right was his courtesan tease that seemed impossible to elude. He sighed, she was tempting enough from behind, but there was something in her eyes, in her smile, which was astonishing. He felt his jaw slacken, and as his gaze drifted downward from her eyes to her chest, he felt the burning heat return once again to his core. He stood, motionless, entranced by her walk.

"Allah! Tell me something I didn't know! What a chauvinist is that one! I have heard rumours of young girls being swept off the streets, forced to join his harem." Maria grimaced, and became concentrated on the ground in front of her, " Yes, it was Robert's brilliant idea that my cover should be to pose as one of his harem- Lord what lewd desires this man has!" The two women laughed again; it had been so long since Maria had felt the true bond of sorority. They began to indulge in gossip, scandalous details consuming all of their attention. Maria didn't even notice the hooded man standing in front of her until she was close enough to taste the linen robes he wore.


	4. Acquaintance

The resolution to Maria's blunder? In the paragraph below, which pertain to Ubisoft's characters from Assassin's Creed. As if you didn't already know! Enjoy :)

"Ummph! The fuck?" Altaïr cursed as he felt something slam into his muscles; he looked down, and realized with dread that it was that alluring courtesan. He berated himself for letting himself get distracted, once again, in this courtesan's hemline- it was, after all, his fault she walked right into him. As he felt her lithe form crush against his firm chest, he couldn't help but pull her closer, "To, uh, stabilize her…" he rationalized.

Maria apologized profusely, only after a string of curses left her mouth.

"Son of a bitch! Why don't you watch the bloody hell where you a-"

Altaïr gazed down at her, shocked by such vulgar words used by a woman. He was more shocked by how he found her feistiness arousing.

"I uh.. .Forgive me, " Altaïr stammered, flushed from embarrassment. "I um, uh… I didn't mean…"

"Maria I dare say you have knocked his brains loose! Either that or your proximity has rendered him speechless!" Jessica laughed.

Maria shot Jessica a scorching look, then turned her attention back to the mysterious, statuesque man who was still holding her in his solid arms. She observed him with curiosity, as he looked away from her gaze.

"Perhaps, " she began with a condescending tone, "you should watch where you are walking next time," Altaïr met her gaze, and Maria rewarded him with an alluring smile that Jessica couldn't see.

"Come _on_ Maria darling, as much fun as being pressed to the chest of a very attractive mysterious- on second thought, move over!"

Maria rolled her eyes as she pulled away from Altaïr's arms. Altaïr flushed again at the compliment, and averted his gaze.

"We're leaving Jessica, don't get any ideas! Besides, I have to get back to _work_- don't want Mamraj to get any ideas about punishment!"

Jessica harrumphed and folded her arms over her chest, smirking. The two women brushed past the flustered Assassin, snickering and whispering to each other. Altaïr's eyes widened- had he heard that right? "She is one of Mamraj's courtesans? There might be some way I can use this to my advantage… " Altaïr smiled to himself, "Maria," he whispered to himself, "so that's her name", He decided to follow her from a distance, hoping she would lead him to the servant's entrance of Mamraj's palace.

Malik had just finished his second cup of tea and plotting new developments on his map of Jerusalem by noon. He decided that he had enough of the stuffy bureau air, and wanted to stretch his legs a bit. He reached under the desk and pulled out a wooden ladder that he used to get out of the bureau. He sighed, reminded once again that he could no longer free climb, as he had lost his arm a few months ago.

"Templar bastards!" He cursed under his breath as he pushed the ladder up to the wall, and deftly climbed out. He squinted as his head emerged from the shadows of the bureau and into the glaring sun that was at its climax in the sky. The white walls and roofs almost glittered in the sunlight, and the metal domes of synagogues and mosques reflected vibrantly. Malik inhaled deeply, pleasing smells of market wares and food travelling to him on the warm, dry breeze. He walked across the warm roof, and carefully lowered himself down onto another ladder that led to the street. Taking a quick glance around, he started into the crowd, looking for a nice spot to enjoy the pleasant weather. He sat on a bench overlooking the river that flowed through the city- a marvel to behold. Unlike many of his Brothers, Malik could swim- before he lost his arm, however. After the incident, he had not ventured near any body of water that was of any depth. The overbearing heat of the day, however, made his fear diminish exponentially.

Oddly enough, this particular section of the river was quite deserted, within the past hour in which Malik had been sitting in the sun, only two people had passed him. Malik looked around curiously, it appeared he was indeed, very much alone. He sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment, and took off his heavy black robe, "It is much to hot today for such a cloak!" He wiped the sweat from his brow and neck as he regarded the river with hunger in his eyes. Realizing that the river, at this point flowed slowly, Malik decided to give the idea of swimming a second chance.

"First the Novice apologizing to me, then swimming! What else will this day bring for me?"

He stood and started undressing by the river's edge. Taking his inner tunic off proved a frustrating challenge, as he had only one hand to undo the clasps with. Malik was not a man known for his patience to begin with, especially now, when he was standing in the sun, feeling the sweat rolling down his back his patience was already gone. With a grunt of annoyance, Malik ripped open his tunic, tearing the fabric open, reveling in the amazing feeling of the fingers of cool air caressing his damp chest. Despite the fact that Malik had been forced to take the station of Rafiq in Jerusalem, a job that would hardly be described as physically demanding, he still had the lissome, toned form of an Assassin. He shook himself free of the rough tunic, allowing his muscular chest and abdomen to breathe. Taking note that there was no one around him, he slipped out of his pants and boots, and with a genuine grin, scampered over to the river bed, and into the cool water

He gasped as the invigorating temperature splashed around his legs, and up to his muscular torso, making his muscles contract, and heart rate elevate. He continued deeper into the river, until he was in up to his taut waist in sweet relief from the sun's relentless rays. He floated onto his back, and attempted, in vain, to stay balanced. He soon felt himself dipping to one side; frustrated by his lack of balance, because of his missing arm, he flipped onto his front. He was surprised, however, by the fact that, for the most part, he was able to stay afloat, and upright with relative ease. Malik decided to see what could still be accomplished underwater, and with a thorough intake of air, he plunged down into the refreshing water below.

Jessica and Maria continued along together for a while longer, chatting and giggling- neither of them any wiser to the fact that a man in white had been following them in the crowd. Altaïr smiled several time as the two women discussed their thoughts on Mamraj.

"Quite a philanderer this man," thought Altaïr, " I wonder how he came into such a position of affluence. How many women must he keep in his harem?" Altaïr shook his head, "Foolish wonderings, just the sort of thing that would set the Master off." He chuckled quietly to himself.

Maria's friend was named Jessica, Altaïr had learned through eavesdropping on their conversation. He had also overheard Jessica teasing Maria about what had happened to her this morning. Altaïr blushed several times at Jessica's ridiculous description of the scenario.

"Now stop that Jessica!" Maria interjected Jessica's illustration of how Maria 'clung to his steel arms for her very life, ready to faint at the sight of such a stud…' "You sound like you are reciting something from a romance novel!"

The women laughed and continued on their way; remaining in each other's company until they reached the outer gates at the rear of Mamraj's palace. Maria turned to Jessica, and bid her farewell.

"Where are you headed off to know, Jessica?"

"Oh, I don't know. I have the rest of the week as a sort of a vacation before its back to Acre." Jessica frowned for a moment, then snorted, "Why must it always be so grey in that city? Just when one thought for a moment it would be possible to escape such weather!"

Maria smirked, "Why it's perfect, just like home; gloomy and depressing!"

Jessica cracked into a smile, "Ah, you are right there Maria, I'll give you that."

Altaïr was growing tired of their constant conversing; he did have a mission to complete after all. He crossed his arms over his solid chest, tensing and relaxing his muscles in his arms and chest out of boredom.

Jessica began walking away from Maria, and the latter made her way up to the gate. Altaïr made note of the lone guard by the gate. "Odd, " he thought, "such poor security for such an important man."

Maria cringed at the lecherous gaze she was treated to by the guard.

"Try not to drool on yourself, pervert!" thought Maria, however, she held her tongue. She did not wish to receive a beating for being insubordinate, again. Thankfully the last time, Mamraj had laughed it off- stating he "liked a woman of fierce composition". However, he had warned her that she would have to watch her tongue in the future, as the other men would not take the same view as he did.

She glided past the guard, and into the open doorway of what appeared to be the kitchen. As she stepped out of the light, she took a moment to let her eyes adjust, as she removed the veil from her head. Blinking back the darkness, she ducked suddenly to avoid a squawking bird that was attempting to escape its fate as the main course for tonight's feast.

"Don't let that bloody thing get away!" One of the English cooks shouted at Maria, who was the closest to the feathered beast.

The duck, which had landed in a dish of cream, attempted to right itself with a chorus of panicked honks and squawks. Feathers drifted in the air, and Maria snatched the duck out of the cream before it could fly away- procuring a savage bite for her fingers.

"Ahhhh! You fucking bastard! How _dare_ you!" Maria drew a small dagger she kept in a leather strap bound to her upper thigh, and, taking the foul bird by the neck, swiftly and unceremoniously married blade and flesh.

"There! I will enjoy eating you for dinner tonight!" Maria grinned darkly at the dead bird, lifeblood still draining, held fast between her blood soaked hands. The women in the kitchen stood slack-jawed, stunned into silence by this sudden act of brutality. Maria's smile drained from her face, realizing what she had done. Dropping the twitching bird, she hung her head quickly, and skirted out of the kitchen, further into the palace. She passed by a mirror in the hallway, and regarded her reflection. Flecks of blood adorned her cheeks and throat; hurriedly they were wiped away with the back of Maria's hand. She shook her head, laughing to herself- "If only mother could see me now"; she smiled, and continued up the candle-lit hallway, passing mosaics and frescoes. The hallway ended with a guarded entrance; she drew a calming breath as she approached the doorway to the harem's salon, smiling as she passed the guards, and sashayed into the perfumed room.

Altaïr pulled his hood forward, ensuring his face would be shrouded in shadows, then approached the guard. As soon as he was within range, the guard turned and regarded Altaïr with alarm.

"Stop where you are infidel- come any closer and I _will _end you!"

The guard started to draw his sword from its sheath, as Altaïr shot forward, closing the distance between himself and the guard to a few feet. He launched himself into the air; his shadow on the ground like that of a bird of prey, coming in for the kill. Altaïr flexed his fingers out on his left hand; triggering his Hidden Blade to leap from its sheath, and a second later, plunge into the guard's neck, slicing clean through the tough sinews and bone of his neck. Altaïr's blade hade hit it's mark perfectly, the guard's head lolling unhealthily off to one side, blood spurting out profusely. In one elegant motion, Altaïr withdrew his blade, wiping the blood off on the rough material of the man's tunic, and stood up. He surveyed the empty alley, "Good," he thought, "no witnesses.". He dragged the body off into some nearby bushes, ensuring no one would happen across the body in their travels.

Altaïr averted his eyes, looking for some way to scale the building. The walls were ornately decorated in the Byzantine style that could be found on every building in the Holy Land. Ornate mosaics adorned the walls and courtyards, the windows had elegant shutters and covers; however, they were much to few and far between to be of any use to Altaïr. He made a frustrated noise as he rounded one side of the building.

"It's all the same, fucking architecture! Even with my height advantage, it would be impossible to scale these walls." Altaïr regarded the open doorway with irritation, "I suppose the servant's entrance will have to serve as plan B."

Altaïr made his way over to the open doorway, however, hearing the sounds of a busy, full kitchen made him change his way. It would be impossible to simply wander into such a crowded area as that without being noticed the instant he walked in. Altaïr huffed in exasperation at his predicament and folded his arms across his chest. His gaze went to the ground, and travelled up to the bush where the dead body had been placed. Altaïr's golden eyes lit up, and the scar on his lip was tugged ever so slightly upward by a faint smirk.

"That will work", he simpered.


	5. Mistaken Identity

**WHHAAAAAAAT? AN UPDATE?!**

**Hey all! Sorry for the slow update, I've been trying to start some other fics at the same time, probably not the smartest idea, but hey… I DO WHAT I WANT :P Anyway, let me know what you think of this story so far: feel free to tell me what you'd like to see me do differently, or to continue doing! Special thanks to those that did leave a review, you guys motivate me to keep writing! **

**This chapter will be pretty short, I'm warning you now, but I have revisited the plot, and it will definitely be getting interesting from here…**

**As always, Ubisoft owns Assassin's Creed, not me.**

**Enjoy and review!**

* * *

Altaïr slowly prowled over to the where he had just placed the guard's body, a small pool of congealing blood lay at the roots of the bush. He sized up the guard. Thankfully, he was much smaller than the Assassin of six feet. Altaïr removed both of his tunics, and selected the larger of the two, a coarse, sturdy flax weave. He tied the arms together, and then set about the unsavory task of stuffing the guard's body into the makeshift body bag. He grimaced as he lifted the body into the tunic, and slung it over his shoulder. He knew he would have to hurry before the blood seeped through his "body bag". Altaïr smirked to himself; it just so happened that he had overheard Maria inform Rida that Mamraj had planned a lavish party that was to be held this evening. Altaïr grinned darkly as he joked to himself, _Here comes the main course._

Altaïr hadn't bothered to put the other tunic back on himself, instead deciding to squeeze himself into the Guard's tunic. After struggling to get his arms into the sleeves, he cut them off angrily, figuring he would have a better time getting into the kitchen full of women without them. He had, reluctantly, removed his hood; he did need to keep his status a secret. He didn't like the fact that his face would be bare – identity could either make or break an Assassin. However, he wouldn't be venturing out in the streets without his hood up, therefore his identity should be safe.

* * *

Altaïr sauntered into the kitchen, his stride slightly strained under the burden of carrying a grown man over one shoulder. He grunted softly as he threw the sack down on to the counter, quickly ducking out of the kitchen before any of the women got a good look at his face. Although he would be in and out, and therefore shouldn't have been worried about the cooks, it would not take long before someone realized just what exactly had been stuffed into that bag, and thrown onto the counter. He scampered out of the kitchen, making his way along a series of corridors. As each turn passed, he found himself growing more and more frustrated.

_Where the hell is this bastard hiding?!_

Minutes passed, causing Altaïr's nervousness to intensify. His left hand twitched nervously every time he rounded a corner, or heard footsteps echoing behind him. He had left his belt and sash in the bush outside, expecting to retrieve them after. He had planned his escape route with this in mind, figuring he would have time to stoop for his equipment before rushing into the crowded streets, replacing them after he would scramble into a rooftop garden or hay pile.

"Hey– you. What are you doing here?!" A voice echoed off the plaster walls.

Altaïr turned slowly, regarding the pair of armored guards with caution. Out of habit, his eyes flitted across their armor, looking for weak spots.

"Are you mute as well as stupid?" one of them sneered.

Altaïr swallowed a growl, "I'm sorry?"

The guards continued to walk up, one of them shoving him slightly, "You are expected to _stay_ in the courtyard until the entire proceedings are over."

Altaïr blinked, confusion marring his calm exterior. He paused, trying to understand how he was going to get out of the situation, and still be able to perform his mission. Behind him, he heard several more guards making their round, much too close for Altaïr to kill the two in front of him, without the former noticing.

"Are you lost or something, ghabi?"

Altaïr grimaced, "Perhaps you could refresh my memory."

The guard shoved him forward again, pointing to the hallway adjacent to him, "We'll make sure you get there." The scowl on his face anything but friendly.

* * *

Altaïr was pushed along a labyrinth of hallways and down several staircases before finally reaching an expansive courtyard. Richly decorated and lavishly furnished, Mamraj's festivities appeared to be held in heavenly splendor. Distinguished guests sauntered about, sampling mouthwatering dishes and exotic imported fruits from faraway lands. The world flooded dark as Altaïr switched to eagle vision. Bright blues and reds saturated the majority of his field of view, while blinding whites of benches and other hiding spots caused him to blink and squint his eyes.

_No sign of Mamraj._

Altaïr was pushed further into the courtyard, the indignant guards behind him hurrying along to finally be rid of him. Altaïr let out a frustrated sigh, annoyed that he wasn't able to take the opportunity of thoroughly sweeping the area from a higher vantage point. He kept his head low as he passed people, wary to keep his features as discrete as possible. They passed a group of Mamraj's harem girls, who winked at giggled at Altaïr and the guards, asking them to come watch them dance. After a few crude comments, they moved along, pushing Altaïr again.

_If that happens one more time I will tear that damned arm from its socket, and shove him with it. _

* * *

"Here– are you still lost, or should we lead you in your choreography as well?" The guards spat, leaving him beside a group of male dancers. Upon closer inspection, Altaïr's clothes did very much resemble those of the dancers, no shirt, and simple pants tied at the hip. Altaïr noted that the guards apparently failed to notice his vambrace and sturdy boots, where his counterparts wore sandals and gold cuffs.

It dawned on Altaïr then.

_They think I'm a dancer?!_

* * *

**A/N **

**Ghabi- stupid in Arabic, ( not sure if the right tense or agreement, lemme know if you do!). **

**DUN DUN DUN! Whatever has Altaïr gotten himself into now. Read on to find out!**


	6. Hips and Fingers

**Hey all! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, because it is about to get hella interesting :3 As I said previously, the plot has been revisited and revamped for Altmar awesomeness. Also, just as a side note, If you've been following the story, I have changed chapter 3, so the character Maria has contact with, is no longer English, (Jessica), but is from Jerusalem. I changed this because it felt too Mary-sue-ish, which was ABSOLUTELY NOT what I wanted it to be. In no way is it a self insert, but just an OC I needed so that Maria could talk to someone other than herself when I need to convey plot points XD. **

**As always, Ubisoft owns, yadah yadah. They're the best :)**

**Anyways, without further ado, the next chapter– Read, review, repeat!**

* * *

Altaïr regarded the others with wide eyes. He had never in his wildest dreams thought that he would be thrust into a situation like this one. He followed behind them from as much a distance as he could with the guards watching him with suspicion. They arrived at the center of a large cushioned area; in the center sat Mamraj himself. Altaïr cringed as he saw the lecherous grin on the man's face widen as he watched the undulating movements of several veiled dancing girls. Soon, a break in the music indicated a change in the entertainment, and the male dancers moved forward, and formed lines in front of Mamraj, bowing deeply. Altaïr struggled to keep pace with the others, almost colliding with another once they stopped to bow. He bowed awkwardly, rising too soon, and then hastily, re-bowing. The music started again, and Altaïr quickly realized that he was in over his head. The music reached a frantic pace, and Altaïr had all but given up even trying to stay out from underfoot of the other dancers. He received a few glares after getting in the way of a few of them, and had begun to back away. He snuck a glance to where Mamraj sat, and was startled to see him watching. Altaïr felt his blood chill as the man kept his gaze on him, gradually frowning when he noticed that Altaïr wasn't performing.

Mamraj leaned over and whispered to one of his many guards. Altaïr watched as the guard approached him from the side, forcing him to move closer to the group. Suddenly, Mamraj rose from his cushion, and raised his hands. The music stopped immediately, and the dancers stopped, bowed, and kneeled before him.

"You–" Mamraj interjected sharply, "Come closer."

Altaïr paused, before realizing it was he who had been addressed. He slowly walked forward, the others parted, letting him advance towards Mamraj.

"Are you not a dancer, boy?"

Altaïr cringed, and bowed his head further. His skin crawled as he felt hundreds of eyes falling on him.

"Well then, why do you not dance when we command it?" He stood, trying to appear as opposing as he could against the Assassin's six foot stature.

Altaïr held his tongue, unsure of what to say entirely.

"Dance for us boy! We are here to be entertained, not to give a lecture!" He sat once more, a smile replaced the scowl on his weathered face. "We shall give you a chance to redeem yourself, for we are merciful!" The crowd cheered in response.

Altaïr watched, helpless, as the other dancers stepped back, leaving him alone in the center of the courtyard. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.

_Ah yes, merciful. Exactly what I would have chosen to describe you._

* * *

Maria lounged next to Mamraj, reveling in the rolling breeze from the fanners on either side of him. Although she had several qualms about her mission, she did enjoy her privileges as one of his favourite handmaidens, especially when it came to hot outdoor events. She watched with interest sparkling in her eyes, as a group of young male dancers made their way over to the courtyard. She couldn't resist inspecting the next act with scrutiny– admiring their youthful physique. She raised an eyebrow as the last tagged behind them, his eyes darting around the crowd and the rooftops.

_Curious…_

She kept her eyes locked on him as they began to dance. His steps were untimely and awkward, his arms anything but graceful. She frowned. _Seems the entertainment needed more practice. _

She ducked at the last second, avoiding being hit in the face by one of Mamraj's arms. He signaled for the music to stop, and all eyes were turned back to him. Maria carefully replaced the veil over the lower half of her face, gazing back at the crowd intently. She scoffed along with the crowd as Mamraj asked what the young man was doing– her smile widened when she saw his unease turn his lips down.

After the music started again, he still stood, fixed to the ground– perhaps out of embarrassment. Maria did her part of staring at him until surely he burned from their collective gazes. He shook himself ever so slightly, and then took a starting position. Maria smirked at the tone his cheeks had taken, and the way his eyes remained fixed on the ground. After a few awkward steps, he began to fall into the rhythm, arms and legs taking grace from his years of combat training. Maria began to see through his plan, noticing slowed down forms of quite complex techniques. Soon, however, she felt her own feet keeping time to the music, as it shifted to a much more sensual riff. She raised an eyebrow as she watched his hips, as they moved with surprising ease to the new rhythm. His hand trailed down the front of his toned chest, and dipped over his abdomen, stopping just short of his protruding hipbone. She felt her cheeks burn as she realized how long his undulating hips had captivated her. She lifted her eyes to his broad shoulders, and followed them to the tips of his long fingers. She sat for a moment, biting her lip, as she watched them curl and fan, their length and lithe movements striving to allure her more than his hips. She was shaken from her reverie when she noticed his left hand missed a fourth finger, or rather, half of one. She puzzled over it for a minute, trying to recall what had startled her so much about it.

* * *

Altaïr felt the full length of every second he remained the center of attention.

_Hide in plain sight– definitely not what I'm doing right now. How the hell was I supposed to get out of that anyways? If I killed the guard back there, I would never have been able to reach the others without them raising the alarm. If I didn't join the dancers, the guards would have grown suspicious, and then I would have been exposed anyways. Even if I had danced from the beginning, I still would have done something wrong to point myself out from the others. _

He was surprised as he felt the ease of which his movements came, his arms and legs moved on their own accord, yet managed to keep in time with the music, and still look mildly graceful.

_If only Malik could see what a foolish thing I've gotten into- he'd be grinning like a fucking idiot. _

He scanned the crowd under the canopy where Mamraj sat, noticing that several of his harem appeared to be in attendance. His eye was drawn to the sultry gaze of his courtesan tease– somehow he had managed to find her again after everything that had happened that day. He felt the knot that had formed in his stomach tighten.

_Of course she'd be here. Watching me. _

He watched as her eyes fell to his hips, and lingered there. His unease morphed to mild pride as she pulled the corner of her lip under her teeth, and continued to follow the easy sway of his motions with her blue eyes. He attempted to continue his movements, to see just exactly what his motions could do to her, however, the music soon stopped, and the crowd applauded his efforts loudly. Altaïr made his way out of the center, and under the canopy where Mamraj sat.

"Now that," Mamraj murmured, "was quality entertainment."

Altaïr took the seat offered to him beside a few of Mamraj's handmaidens. The soft breeze from the feather fans felt silky against his warm skin. The lilting giggles of the women grew louder as they scooted closer to him, caressing him and praising his dancing. Altaïr tried to shrug their hands away, intent on only staying this close to Mamraj so he could poison him, not be felt up by loose women. Unfortunately he ended up having to stay put, as Mamraj stood, and yet again demanded a livelier act. Altaïr watched the blue eyed woman as she kept her eyes locked on Mamraj's back, in an almost protective manner. Altaïr took the opportunity to slide towards her, figuring if Mamraj, and his wine cup, were absent, he may as well investigate where another opportunity to strike would be.

* * *

"Salam wa aleikum"

Maria almost jumped at the deep, sultry voice that purred next to her ear.

"ahh.. salam to you too…" she managed to whisper.

"You are English, yet Mamraj keeps you in his harem?" he inquired.

Maria frowned, not wanting to grace him with a reply, "May I ask you just who you think you are? You address me as if you've the right to, and yet a moment ago, you could barely keep time to a simple tune."

"And you could barely keep your eyes from me." he countered.

She turned to glare at him, but faltered when she recognized him. The familiar burn return to her veins, and she blushed deeper when she realized who the man was.

_The same bloody idiot who I ran into this morning._

She attempted to act calmly, "I was… just watching so I could make a mockery of you later."

"While alone in your bed perhaps?"

Both sat shocked at his comment, Altaïr more so than Maria.

Maria's eyes narrowed, intent on putting an end to his teasing, "You never did give me a name."

He brought his lips close enough to brush her ear, "So you can moan it later?"

* * *

**A/N**

**Salam wa aleikum- peace be upon you**

**New chapter will be up soon!**

**'Till then, stay lovely!**

**(And review pls XP)**


	7. A Fool's End

Maria shivered, not sure as how to respond to his lewd comments. Normally, a simple slap to the face would have already been inflicted, and she would be on her merry way. This time however, she found the silk in his voice too pleasing to dispatch. She reclined easily against the pillows ensconcing her, and sighed deeply, curiosity keeping her eyes gazing back into his.

* * *

Altaïr truly was shocked of his comments; his purpose had been to make friends enough so she would tell him a useful piece of evidence, not so that she would lay with him.

"Al– Almahadi."

She turned to face him, her eyes widened when she gazed upon their amber depths. "I… I see. Well, _Almahadi_, will you continue to try and seduce me, or do you have more casual conversation to make?"

Altaïr shifted, his smirk fading, "Your master, I wish… I seek an audience with him."

She chuckled softly, "An audience– with you? Good heavens, they must have left you out in the sun too long."

Not wanting to lose his patience this early on, he took a long, slow inhale before his next query, "It is not such an absurd thing to ask. I merely wish a brief moment of his time. Might you ask for me?"

Her brow lifted, "Me? I should think not. We are not to speak unless spoken to. Bloody sod won't let me even complain about the fucking heat in his presence."

The scar on his lip was tugged upwards at her language, "And yet, he allows you to speak with such– vigor?"

She leaned in close to him, lips close enough to his ear for him to brace against a shiver, "I say what I want– I am not of the same temperament as his other whores."

"And how exactly did you come into his service?"

Slowly tracing her tongue down his neck, following a small bead of sweat, she whispered, "How do you think?"

His hands tensed into fists, "Why offer your body to him? Surely there are better things for a woman."

She pulled back ever so slightly, "Oh, we do live lavish lives." She took a sip of water from her goblet, "And there is usually nothing for us to do, save what we want."

"Which is?"

She smirked, "Bathing, grooming, massages, anything really." She rolled her shoulders back, "As long as we remain obedient. Why? Thinking of applying for a position?"

Altaïr groaned inwardly.

_I could think of a few for you…_

He shook himself, "When does your master retire in the evenings?"

"I don't know- pass me the olives."

He selected the dish she had indicated to, pausing to take one himself as he handed it to her, earning a smirk, "You have no idea?"

"You honestly want to talk to him? About what? A salary increase or something?" Looking out into the crowd she mused, peeling the flesh of the olive between her teeth, "You'd probably get one– he seemed to take an interest in you." Deftly, she grabbed another, eyes still captivated by the swirling skirts of the other dancers.

The hard pit of the olive rolled around between his teeth as he thought on his feet, "If I were to ask, would he hear my question?"

"I could pass it onto him, if you'd like."

"Ah– no, I need to do… I would feel more comfortable asking him in person."

She nodded, a disinterested air settling over her features once again. The contents of the dish seemed to be rapidly depleting, and Altaïr grabbed the last two in his hand before she could eat them. Lips parted in surprise, she gave him a reprimanding look, which he ignored.

"You're not even supposed to eat those– those were his favourite, you know."

_Fuck. _

_I could have used those…_

"He seems to be enjoying other delicacies." He pointed briefly to where Mamraj stood against a pillar, cajoling one of the dancers, holding her hand near to his lips.

Maria grimaced, " I still wanted one you know."

Altaïr held one between his teeth, amusing himself at the face she made. His smile quickly vanished when he felt her fingers grab his chin; her own mouth covered his quickly. His eyes widened, and he tried to pull back, only succeeding in having her follow him further over, her hand coming to rest on his thigh. Her teeth tried to grasp the olive, nearly taking a chunk of his lip in the process. He growled when she smiled back at him contently, olive protruding from her own lips.

_Two can play at your game. _

The pause of triumphant gloating ultimately cost her the accomplishment, wrapping a hand around her arm, he pulled her further into his lap, and captured her lips. Having not anticipated retaliation was her failing, and she scoffed slightly at his enthusiasm, and tried to pull away from him. When she felt his tongue run, hot and wet over her lips, her body betrayed her, and she surrendered her prize to him. Half lidded from their pursuits, his eyes betrayed his arousal more so than his husky voice did, "I didn't think you'd give it up that easily."

She dismissed him, instead running her hand on his thigh up to his lap, grasping him through his pants. A groan rumbled in his throat, and he bared his teeth from her grasp. The other harem girls sat nearby, chatting and giggling despite what transpired to their right. Every second that passed, Altaïr desired more so for her to cease her motions, feeling his body near closer to betraying him with each minute motion. His eyes shot a warning that she chose to ignore, her other hand firmly grasping his chin, forcing him to look up to her. Eyes narrowing, her lip curled in a way that he would have wished it couldn't, and he felt a moan pass through his clenched teeth as she squeezed him tighter.

She smirked, "You'd like me to, wouldn't you?" She whispered next to his mouth, lips nearly driving him to pieces at their proximity. Then, just as he caved, turning his head to silence her promiscuous lips, she stood slowly in front of him. Without another word or gesture, she sashayed away, casting a sultry glance over her shoulder, olive in her teeth.

* * *

Chewing contentedly, she sauntered into the cool embrace Mamraj's quarters offered. Her feet slapped softly on the marble floor as she traipsed through the empty halls, curious at the lack of guards and handmaidens.

_Peculiar._

She stepped into one of Mamraj's private rooms, assuming her usual position on the pile of cushions, along with a few others girls who had followed her. Arranging herself, she grimaced at the mundane whispers of conversation she could pick out amongst their conversation.

_Just when I thought I'd get some peace and quiet._

The sounds of the instruments seemed to drift closer, soon entering the room behind Mamraj, and a few of his hand-selected guests. Most were of noble birth, or high in military rank– all of which seemed to be enjoying their overflowing wine cups, ending up sputtering about like fools.

_Graceless imbeciles. I do suppose being the only sober person in the room has its benefits. _

She reclined further, closing her eyes for a moment. The garbled giggles of the other harem girls forced her eyes open with a twitch.

_Now if only the drunken twits beside me would shut up, I might be able to enjoy myself._

The party had only seemed to pick up after entering the smaller private chambers. The musicians performed from a corner, however, their volume appeared to any guest, regardless of proximity, to be coming from directly beside them. Mamraj made his way around between groups of dancing girls, and the dignitaries scattered in their stupor. Beside Mamraj, there stood the constant wine bearer, head held low in respect, but eyes somehow catching the ever-changing level of wine in his master's goblet.

Her brow furrowed, _Has his servant grown from a boy to a man in my absence? And his hair– Almahadi! What the hell does he want?_

Carefully keeping track of his movements through narrowed eyes, she peeled a section of a date, chewing thoroughly while she mused. The other guests appeared oblivious to the change, merely whispering amongst themselves in shouts, or twirling haphazardly along with the music. After refilling Mamraj's goblet, the servant bowed quickly, and mumbled something to his master, receiving a wave of fingers and a nod. Frowning, as he turned quickly on his heel, she watched him weave through the drunken guests, avoiding their arms and raucous laughs in the process.

_Where are you going now?_

Her eyes returned to Mamraj, who stood clutching at the curves of a harem girl, her smile evident beneath her veil. She chewed on her lip, waiting for Almahadi to return. Exhaling with relief, she watched him stride into the room, gait rather self-assured for a mere servant. He lowered the fresh pitcher, placing it on a banquet table in the room's corner, abandoned for its lack of food. To any other guest, his actions would have been so commonplace, that under the haze of the wine, he would have passed by unnoticed. Curious, she watched as he took a small canister from his sash, emptying it into the wine.

Her eyes widened.

_Not on your life! _

Her mission's importance burned in her stomach, nearly causing her to gag as she closed her eyes. Now she could imagine him striding over to Mamraj, watching the goblet being refilled, and her target slumped to the floor; too soon would she fail.

She swallowed hard, _Perhaps I can still bring Robert the damned Assassin who cost me my mission._

She quickly tip-toed through the crowd to the room's only exit, hurrying into the dim corridor. She searched for a place to hide herself, preparing a plan of attack for when she would hear the Assassin leave.

Just as she arranged herself behind a large pillar, a great commotion rose behind her, and her breath caught for a moment. She knew Mamraj had collapsed in a spasm, his hands digging at his throat, eyes lolling about it his head. Despite the dark, she had managed to find a decent loop of cord used for the ornamental banners Mamraj kept in his halls. She wound it tight in her hand, puling against it to test its hold.

_Can't say I'll mourn his loss. Though Robert might have my head for allowing him to die so easily... _

Maria's mouth hardened, and her breath was shallow as she waited for him, muscles coiled.

* * *

Altaïr slipped out of the room, grateful for once at the lack of restraint the dignitaries had shown when it came to alcohol. Blinking a few times to allow his eyes to adjust, he paused for the briefest of seconds before breaking into a sprint. He had not gotten two hundred paces from the room, when something sprung from the darkness, in its collision, wrenching him off balance and sending him down to the hard floor. A grunt escaped him as his chin hit the floor, filling his mouth with a sharp metallic taste he was all too familiar with. His hands had been pulled behind him, and he felt something familiar to a rope being wrapped around them. He rolled over quickly, sending his assailant onto the floor, as he quickly slipped out of their unfinished bind. Before she had a chance to right herself, Altaïr straddled her, flipping her onto her back roughly.

Maria grunted, and opened her mouth to scream his whereabouts, when a hand closed around her neck. She wriggled frantically under him, trying by any means to remove the Assassin.

Altaïr leaned his head down, slamming his weight onto her fully, hips pressing her painfully into the floor, "Cease your struggle woman– or I will be forced to silence you."

Try as she might, even her vexation at the way her plan had unfolded couldn't keep her from shivering at the low growl his voice had become. The edges of her vision began to fade into darkness, and she was left with no choice but to comply. Mouth set it a scowl, she waited for him to lessen his grip around her neck, but to her surprise, it appeared he truly intended on strangling her.

His lips neared her ear, she could feel the way the words formed behind his bared teeth, "If you make the slightest sound, I will break your neck."

She felt the grip of his hand release, and her body was wracked by the urge to cough. Blood ran from under her teeth, which sank into her lips. Above her, Altaïr struggled to tie her properly with her constant movement. Rolling his hips forward to put more weight on her, his stern mouth faltered, regretting his decision immediately. Frustrated with too many things on top of his own body's agenda, he grabbed her by the shoulders, and slammed her down to the ground again, "I said _keep still_." He seethed.

Finally, his fingers had managed to fumble the rope into knots, and he stood over her, giving her a solid kick in the abdomen before turning to run again.

* * *

Pain blossomed through her, as she lay in a fetal position. Teeth bared against the agony he delivered, she contorted herself to grab a small blade sewn into her skirts, tearing it out unceremoniously. Through her rage, she managed to saw through the thick cord, running on adrenaline to climb to the roof, surveying the surroundings. Her peripherals caught the movement of the Assassin's route on the rooftop of a souk, and Maria let out a strangled cry for an archer. One stumbled over, yelling at her in Arabic, surely informing her she was not permitted to be up here. With a deft throw, she lodged her knife into his eye socket, wrenching the readied bow from his grasp, and taking aim at her fleeing target.

* * *

**A/N **

**Almahadi- 'Guided to the right path'**

**Oh irony…**


	8. Blood and Arrows

As if he had been struck from the sky, Altaïr was jolted mid leap. His heart, still pounding from his escape, froze momentarily as the hard steel of the arrow bit into his shoulder. His face contorted from the initial shock, to pain; the shock wore off, replaced by agony. He had staggered in his leap from one building to the next, and found the arrow's impact had thrown his trajectory off. Scrambling to hold himself up from an even more painful fall, his shoulder burned as the muscles ripped under his struggle.

_Fuck! _

_Where the hell did that even…_

The pain spiked in his shoulder, pins and needles threatening to numb his arm should he continue his efforts. Dropping his injured arm, he hung from the roof by the other, searching the ground below him for anything to break his fall. Grunting, he let his fingers lose their grip, landing with a practiced roll, he still felt the impact shudder through his legs, and he was powerless to stop the short cry that was ripped from his throat.

* * *

_Gotchya_

Maria simpered as she watched him fall, his gait thrown by her dead hit.

_Not bad for the lack of practice. _

She stopped only long enough to briefly gloat at her accomplishment, before scampering down the building herself. She took a leap from a lower edge, following the path she had watched him take. Despite their difference in height, Maria was able to make most of the same jumps, adrenaline powering her legs. At the few isolated splatters of blood under her feet she grinned.

_He couldn't have gone far. Probably fell down. I'll stay up here so I can–_

Her thoughts were interrupted by her peripherals, the faint limp in the crowd, created an unusual gait. One with an injury, would create such a walk, or perhaps an arrowhead in his shoulder. Inhaling deeply, she re-filled her lungs for the next arduous task, of stalking a highly trained assassin in broad daylight. She waited for him to exit the crowd, hoping he would turn down some alley way before she would have to either go a long ways out of her way to get around the large vantage point towers, or climb down from the roofs, only to be lost in the sea of people.

_Perhaps a distraction would work in my favour. _

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, a loud cry came from a few women in the crowd below. A Saracen was trying to accuse one of them for stealing, only to be met with loud protests. She watched with curiosity as the others in the crowd steered away from her as if she was diseased; none offering her help.

_And yet they accuse us of doing wrong. _

Eyes never venturing too far from her target, she watched as he began following some of the others, striding as far away from the woman's escalating shrieks as the Saracen guards continued their harassment.

_And just where are you going?_

She hopped across a few suspendered wooden platforms, crossing over the crowd to the other side of the buildings. Keeping pace as he slipped past most of the crowd, she watched with pride as he grabbed at his arm, wincing in the process.

_Now what on earth am I going to do this time to actually catch him. I don't think my ribs have felt quite a blow like that since I got on the wrong side of a few city guards. I suppose I could use his injury to my advantage, although I don't have anything but a moment of surprise, and a small injury on my side. If this is going to work, I need to keep him in one place, knock him out, and then either find something to bind him, or…_

Maria's attention suddenly snapped back to Altaïr as he was now behind her, sitting against some crates in a deserted alleyway. In her planning she had neglected to keep a focus on him, and had ended up passing him by.

_Shit– pay more attention woman! If he gets away now, there won't be a point in returning to Robert._

Groaning to herself, she looked around, realizing she would have t cross over the rooftops again in order to jump down on top of him. He sat slumped, vulnerable to attack– however, on the wrong side of the alleyway. Her own route to cross would be to go around, taking her nearly an entire street of houses down, leaving her without an eye on him for a good couple of minutes. Or, she could chance slipping down the side of the building she was currently on, dart across the street at the intersection behind her, and then climb back up.

_I can't trust leaving him by himself. _

Maria sighed as she slid down the building, muscles tensed to make her drop as soundless and controlled as possible. In the stillness of the alleyway, every sound was multiplied; the closeness of the buildings acting as an amplifier with all the surrounding walls. Darting quickly over the other side of the street, she watched him the entire time, convinced that as long as she looked at him, he wouldn't look up. Her breath nearly burst from her lungs as she made it to the other side, scrambling quickly onto the rooftops once again. Her breaths slipped through her parted lips in tiny puffs; she made her approach, cautious to avoid the worn boards connecting the buildings.

* * *

Altaïr felt his mouth open as he let out a ragged moan, his back tensing as he reached once more fruitlessly searching to remove the arrowhead buried in his back. The pain continued to throb; the entire side of his back began to lose any sensation, and he knew time was of the essence if he wanted to avoid lasting damage. He had nearly recovered enough to make another attempt, when someone from the rooftops crushed his body.

The preciseness of isolated pain only a kneecap could deliver wedged itself into the wound, causing Altaïr to produce a guttural noise that shuddered through his entire body. She dug her knee in further, using her entire bodyweight to dig the point of the arrow another few centimetres into his muscle. Feeling its point near bone, Altaïr's mouth stretched even wider, a soundless cry escaping on his breath. Deft fingers soon replaced the knee's weight, and for a moment he thought the pain had ended. With a flick of her wrist, her fingers grabbed hold, and twisted the arrowhead around, eliciting shouted curses from the Assassin beneath her.

She leaned in close to his ear, savouring his panting breaths, "What? Not even going to put up a fight?" She twisted the arrowhead the other way, "Something got your tongue?"

Altaïr struggled to form a sentence, to say anything to make her cease. His limbs seemed incapable of moving, and though he tried, he failed to right himself from under her hold.

"I'm going to ask you one time, and you shall answer me. If not, this arrow will be sliding out of your arse, do you understand?"

Altaïr had no idea to interpret her bizarre threat, however the pain that bloomed through his mind left him only capable of a single, minute nod.

'Good." She sneered at his position beneath her, shifting her weight while she had the chance, "Why were you sent to poison Mamraj?"

Altaïr groaned, he had been taught to endure torture, learned secrets of telling the mind to ignore the flesh. However, now his techniques seemed lost to him, the only thought being burning agony.

He answered her in Arabic.

Her grin faded, and her fingers sought the arrowhead again. Slippery with his blood, in her attempt to grip it, her fingers ended up pulling it out halfway.

Another stifled yelp was torn from him.

She pulled it out slowly, raking the tip against his skin before it slid out, flicking his back and her arm with blood. Holding her only weapon in her hands, she wrenched him over to lay on his back, and she placed a hand on either shoulder, digging him into the uneven cobblestone.

Altaïr struggled to free himself from her grip, using his hips to thrust her off. However, as she dug his shoulder into the ground beneath him, he could see the edges of his vision darkening.

She stared into his eyes, "You would do well to answer in my language. Unless you wish to lose something you value more than your life."

Eyes wavering as he looked back at her under heavy lidded eyes, his confusion was evident. Sighing at his naivety, she sat up over him, digging her hips down, and squeezing her legs together on either side of him to keep him stable. She watched for any clue of his falter.

They remained like that for a moment, Altaïr waiting until some tiny amount of strength would return, Maria waiting for a confession. His second wind returned faster than her patience wore out, and his arms grasped for her throat, shocking her with his rapid recovery. She wrenched herself back, using her position on top to her advantage, pulling herself out of his arm's reach. His hips bucked under her, and she found herself being thrown off. In an act of desperation, she bit down into his shoulder, sinking her teeth deep into his muscle, waiting for him to either rip her from him, or surrender. He writhed, yet she hung on, tasting his blood as it filled her mouth.

"Tozz fiik wa filli gabuuk!"

Maria found herself being flipped onto her back, the sun being shielded by Altaïr form above her. Blood dripped onto her face and she turned her head, blinking against the few drops that had landed near her eye. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, securing herself around him in another place. His hand found her jaw, and attempted with a growl, to pry her teeth from him. She felt the pressure on her jawbone increase, and she would soon feel it shatter under the pressure of his fingers. Begrudgingly, she released her hold, spitting his blood where it would hopefully land in his face.

"You missed."

She growled at him, and tried to wrench herself free of his grip. She let her legs drop from his hips, but before she could roll away from under him, her arms were ripped above her head, and she felt herself being lifted up and shoved against the rough stucco wall.

* * *

**_A/N_**

**Tozz fiik wa filli gabuuk- Fuck/screw you and those who gave birth to you.**


	9. Burlap

**Hey all!**

**Not going to apologize from the huge lapse in updates– it only makes me feel more lugubrious! Rage at me if you feel so inclined in a review or PM.**

**Anyways, here's the next chapter; it's a little bit shorter, however, the next, as always, will be longer. Let me know how I'm doing in a review– I live to see the notification in my inbox!**

**If you follow my other fics, updates are coming soon for those as well; I'm trying to finish off this fic, and Detest to Devotion. I'm also hoping to finish LTGU and focus on Transcendence. **

**Enjoy the time off! (if you're on March Break also, if not... errr... enjoy the chapter (?))**

**Ubisoft owns.**

**Read, review, and repeat!**

* * *

"Oh, how the tables would seem to turn." Maria growled, bitterly.

Altaïr's face was set as stone, though his mouth still bore evidence of his pain, "Enough of your games, woman; you would do well to answer quickly."

"Answer what precisely? You've yet to do anything but assault me!" Despite his firm grip on her arms, she wriggled in protest, only stopping with a jerk as his elbow dug into her ribs. Altaïr resisted a disdainful laugh as he listened to her bellowing curse.

"Such… expressions would belittle your feminine image; but I forget, you hardly did depict such an ideal."

"Do you, in fact, have a point to make Assassin? Or are you merely proving what a contumelious, sanguinolent –"

Another swift jab to her ribs silenced any further insults she prepared to pepper him with.

"What was your business with Mamraj? What did your masters instruct?"

"As if you would be made privy to such information." Her mouth was set in a tight line, "You would prosper by saving your banal questions for someone who knows the answers."

"Someone who has answers? So your 'brothers' do not hold you in regard to–"

"My _brothers_ do not factor into this – this was my mission alone to carry out, and I was not informed as to what its purpose was."

"Truly you expect me to believe such _lies_?" His teeth were brought to light as he snarled, "You bring shame upon yourself, Templar." His tone had darkened; at his transforming expression, Maria's felt her resolve faltering. "Under what pretence would you expect me to believe you were sent, by your master, to stand and loiter in Mamraj's presence? You were either there to survey him, or send him to ground; which was it?"

Maria grit her teeth against the blossoming pain, "I shan't be serving as your damned informant – now release me!"

"Are you truly that wet behind the ears?"

The frown growing on Maria's face was interrupted by a swift kiss, courtesy of Altaïr's fist.

(BREAK)

Altaïr scanned his surroundings, his face contorted by the pain now freely showing upon it. Cradling his injured arm, he cast one last glance at her slumped form before pacing up the alley. Littered in the street lay stray piles of discarded building materials from the construction nearby. He rooted through one promising looking pile, and managed to scavenge some sturdy twine.

_Now, something to silence that tongue of hers…_

After several minutes of searching, he knelt beside her unconscious form, roughly taking her arms behind her back, and securing them with the twine. As he worked, he observed several drops of blood spatter onto her pale skin, eventually seeping into the gold patterns that adorned her back.

_Such a shame that it goes to waste. _

He growled at himself, swiping the blood off of her shoulder blade with a fluid, detached motion. Heaving her up by her arms, he brought her to lean against the wall while he attempted to secure her gag; he winced at the popping noise, which emanated from her sockets as he lifted her. Pinning her to the wall with his hips, he secured the thin scrap of burlap around her mouth.

_How exactly to get her to the bureau…_

(BREAK)

As Altaïr made his way through the streets of Jerusalem's high noon crowd, several confused and condescending looks weighed his shoulders down.

_That, and this nondescript burlap sack slung across them…_

Elbowing his way into the busiest section of the street, he drew an anxious breath into his lungs. The outdoor market vendors harping loudly about their superior wares, as throngs of patrons crowded densely. He grimaced as he began to get jostled around, at times having to push back against others to retain his balance. He allowed himself a small smirk at the image of Maria being jostled into the sweaty armpits and backs of those pressing into them.

_What a pity she isn't awake. _

(BREAK)

Malik's head whipped up at the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Moving from behind the desk and into the brightness of the bureau's covered entrance, he scoffed, "What? Forget how to land properly Alt–"

The sight of the body-sized bag laying hap-hazardly on the ground closed his mouth to any quips.

"And what is this that you have dragged into my bureau? For your sake Altaïr, it better not be –"

"It is the Templar woman, Maria Thorpe."

Malik nodded once, "And what pray tell was she doing in Mamraj's presence? Was she there to end his life as well? Or–"

Altaïr groaned and tightened his grip on his cradled arm, "Please, there will be time for interrogations later Malik. As of this moment, I require medical attention."

With an eyebrow raised, the Rafiq indicate to the rooms in the back of the bureau, "You among all people should know where the bandages are."

"Your kindness continues to astound me, brother."

Malik smirked as he watched Altaïr limp off, "And what am I to do with your… delivery?"

"Ensure it does not leave, for a start. She may also require aid– however, perhaps it'd be beneficial to leave her in pain for a while yet."

"If you think it best, I'll hold her in one of the rooms; if you are in luck, I might have something to restrain her with."

"Do what you must, only now, leave me to recuperate."

Malik shook his head as he nudged the sack with his foot, "This will prove interesting, if not hazardous."


End file.
